(Doctor Gregory House and other canon characters featured in this work of fiction belong to NBC/Universal and David Shore. Original characters are my creation. I make no money from writing these stories, it's done for pure enjoyment. All literary passages, quotes and song lyrics are used without permission; I do not own them or make money from using them.)

"I live my life in widening circles that reach out across the world."

― Rainer Maria Rilke

Approximately sixteen years later . . .

May 5th

It was a nice spring day, warm with plenty of sun and a soft breeze coming through the car window. Jason yawned and stretched a bit, glanced out at scenery he knew well but hadn't seen in some time. He'd missed the last two holidays—his choice, but not really a choice at all, as it had turned out. More like avoidance, he thought, and pushed the knowledge away.

He drove through the village now, the few storefronts dark, though the lights were on in Rick's bakery. Jason contemplated fresh doughnuts and a large coffee and sat up a bit. He took the car off autopilot and back to manual, pulled into the closest parking spot, shut off the engine, stretched, snagged his travel mug and got out.

Rick was behind the counter as always; a little more wrinkled, and a few pounds heavier, but still the same smile. It widened as Jason came through the door. "Hey Jay, good to see you. It's been a while, man."

Jason nodded. "Rick." He realized some conversation was expected. He was back in a small town now, where everyone knew each other and took the time to chat. "How's it going?"

"Well you know, can't complain. Wouldn't do no good anyway." Rick wiped his hands on his apron. "Kids are doin' okay, wife's got a cold, business is pretty decent all things considered. How about you? You're outta school now, right?"

Jason felt some bitter amusement at the question. "Yeah."

"Back to stay for a while?" Rick gave him a speculative look. "Gonna hang up your shingle?"

"We'll see." The future loomed before him, full of uncertainty. He pulled his thoughts away from the problems he'd struggled with since he'd left Boston. "Need a dozen mixed to take home. And a coffee." He set his travel mug on the counter.

Rick took the hint. "You got it. I just put the first batch out, they're still warm." He turned to get a box and Jason relaxed a little. If he talked to anyone about the last week's events, it would be Dad first, and maybe House.

A few minutes later Rick handed Jason the box and his mug. "It's good to have you back," he said. The quiet sincerity in his tone was something of a surprise.

"Thanks." He wanted to say it was good to be home, but the words stuck in his throat. "Say hi to the family for me."

"Will do. Don't be a stranger." Rick gave him a smile and moved away to refill the pastry case as Jason slipped out into the new morning.

The coffee was just as he remembered it; strong, a little harsh, but delicious. Mom would scold him for it as she undoubtedly had breakfast ready by now, but he needed the taste, if not the caffeine. He'd managed to doze a little while the car autopilot navigated I-95 through the night, but he doubted he'd get any sleep for a while once he was home.

He drove through the sleepy village, past the post office and the feed store, the barber shop where Gordy's grandson Andy worked part-time, and the library. It all looked smaller, more run-down and shabby than he remembered. But the new sunshine was glorious on the mountains and the deep green of the trees, and the air smelled of fresh-cut hay and manure and growing things. He'd been away long enough to notice the change from the stink of the big city and hospitals.

Home looked the same as it always did. Mom had the first pots of basil and mint out on the step, along with her favorite nasturtiums. Jason pulled the car into the side yard, shut it down, and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, aware he was scared. He remembered his first time here, a neglected, abused kid, oblivious to the complete switch of fortune ahead. This felt a little like that, but now he'd known for years that whatever happened, this was home, and no one would ever turn him away. He sighed softly, opened his eyes and got out.

He went around to the back door, mainly to see if Mom was in the garden. She'd sent him plans for this season's planting, though he hadn't been able to work on it with her. Now though, he'd probably spend at least the summer weeding and involved in harvest and preservation, among other things.

She was in the garden, relaxed and comfortable in the beat-up old kitchen chair they'd trash-picked years ago. It was clear she'd worked on some cultivation in one of the beds, probably the one for root vegetables, if the spading pitchfork propped against a stake was any indication. She sat facing the sun, eyes closed.

"Second breakfast is ready any time you want it," she said in the wry, affectionate tone she reserved for House. "You're up early this morning."

"Mom," Jason said. A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth as she straightened and opened her eyes. And then she came to him, to envelop him in a hug that felt so good he had to clamp down hard on a sudden urge to cry.

"I was beginning to think you weren't ever coming home," she said after a while. The happiness in her soft voice made him feel ashamed, and sad.

"I wanted to surprise you," he said, and rested his cheek against her curls. She gave him a little squeeze.

"Come on," she said finally. "You've had a long drive from Boston, you must be hungry and tired."

He couldn't help but laugh. "Now I know I'm home. You're already taking care of me."

Mom swatted his butt gently. "Of course I am. Let's go."

The doughnuts were served up alongside eggs, sausage and fresh coffee. Jason took down some plates and paused, as he struggled with an odd sense of both panic and relief.

"The last couple of weeks have been bad, haven't they?" Mom put a hand on his back. "You've lost weight."

"I—I can't . . ." His hands tightened on the plates. He made a conscious effort to relax them. "I can't talk about it yet."

Mom moved her hand to his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze. "All right," she said after a moment. She sounded worried, but her touch was as reassuring as always. "Let's have breakfast. Dad will be back from town shortly."

They ate at the breakfast bar as they'd always done during his high school days. The sunshine in the window, the radio on the NPR station, the smell of hot fat in the pan and coffee . . . He felt the knot in his gut loosen a little.

"How was the drive down?" Mom asked, and sipped her tea. "I hear they're doing a lot of construction work, it must have been slow going." She took a doughnut. "Your bedroom's ready for you. Did you get any sleep last night at all?"

Jason was spared from an answer by the sound of the back door code punched. A moment later a voice emerged from the mudroom, loud and aggrieved. "You could try dumping your damn filthy boots someplace besides right in front of the door."

Mom glanced at Jason. She winked. "Good morning Greg!" she called, her tone sunny as the new day outside. "Second breakfast is ready!"

A moment later House emerged from the mudroom. "Idiot rednecks . . ." His voice trailed off when he saw Jason; his eyes widened, and he darted a look at Mom which held equal parts alarm and concern. And then it was gone. He came into the kitchen, shucked off his jacket, dumped it on a stool, and went to the coffeemaker.

"So junior's back," he said, and grabbed a mug. "About time." He poured coffee, stirred in three heaping teaspoons of sugar, and looked over the doughnut selection.

"My lease wasn't up until the end of April," Jason said, and winced at how defensive he sounded.

"Do I care? It was just a general comment on local conditions."

"I see 'local conditions' haven't changed. Still getting a free breakfast while you track mud into Mom's kitchen." It was a weak riposte but it was all he could manage at the moment.

"You're one to talk, coming back to—"

"What is going on?" Mom's quiet words held a warning: don't lie to me. Jason felt a jolt of dread go through him like a lightning bolt.

"You tell me, I just got here," House said. His tone was light, but Jason saw his hand tighten on the mug handle.

"Both of you are behaving like guilty parties. In fact everyone's been acting weird for the last month, even Gene . . ." She fell silent for a moment, then said "What aren't you telling me?"

He'd known this moment would arrive, had known there was no way to escape it, and still he felt trapped. "Mom, there's nothing—"

"No, I'm not imagining it, don't even go there! I want the truth!"

"I think I hear the office calling me," House said, and grabbed a doughnut. "See you later."

"Sit down." Oh, she was mad now, no doubt about it. "Someone better start talkin'." Jason dared a glance at her. Mom gave him a level stare. All the humor was gone from her features; she looked grim and worse, worried. He took a deep breath.

"I—I cheated."

His words fell into the bright kitchen like stones through a glass window. Utter silence followed. House moved to a stool, perched on it like a naughty kid ready for any chance to escape. "Of course you'd find the worst way to say it," he muttered.

"Is there a best way to tell your mother you cheated?" Mom snapped. She ran a hand through her curls, a sure sign of deep distress, and took a breath, as she tried to calm down. "All right—okay. I'm—I'm listening."

"I didn't cheat on my exams," Jason said when he could speak past the lump in his throat. He'd heard the echo of disappointment in Mom's voice, the pain she couldn't quite hide, and knew he would never forget it, ever. "It—it wasn't that. I just . . . I . . . I wrote papers."

"Did you at least make some decent money?" House wanted to know. Mom swung her gaze to him. Another silence fell.

"You told him about this," Mom said at last.

"Yeah, I did." House glared at her, defiant, anxious. "So what? You went to school, you know it's no big deal."

"It is to me." Mom's voice trembled. "I don't expect anyone to be perfect, but this is—this is choosing to do something wrong. You can call it tradition, you can say it goes on all the time. I don't care, it's wrong."

"I used the money to pay my rent," Jason said in an attempt to find some way out, though he knew it was hopeless. Still, he had to try. "I used it for food. Not stupid sh—things like parties."

Mom looked out the window. "If you needed help you could have called us," she said. "We told you that from your first day in college."

"You're already paying for everything else! I just wanted—" Jason stopped, went on. "I wanted to—contribute. To help out. You and Dad, you're paying off the loans and I know it's tough for you, it's been tough for years but you never say anything—" His throat closed up.

"See? Not so bad," House said. Mom got to her feet.

"You and me," she said to House, "in the office, right now. You," she said to Jason, "wait here for your dad, and then we'll talk about this, and you will tell me everything, do I make myself clear? Every single damn thing you haven't told me for the last however long this has been going on. And don't you even dare to sit here thinking up a story, because I'll know you're lying and you will only make it much worse for yourself."

Jason nodded and lowered his gaze to the floor as Mom went to the door. House got up reluctantly to follow her. "Nice going," he growled, and stumped out of the kitchen.

[H]

Damn. Damn, damn and double fuck-damn. Greg follows his shrink into the office with the greatest reluctance. He must be senile to allow himself to be trapped into a confrontation this easily, and not think of a way out.

"Siddown," Sarah says. She pushes a chair at him and assumes her usual place at her desk. He slowly perches on the seat, ready to take off. "Stop acting like I'm gonna beat you and relax."

"Maybe I don't feel like playing Twenty Questions," he snaps. His hands tremble just a little—but hey, they do that all the time now. It annoys the hell out of him when he tries to pick notes on his guitar or play piano.

"You don't have to if you tell me exactly what's been going on." Sarah gives him that level stare he dreads. "So start talkin'."

"You presume I have intimate knowledge—"

"Greg." That flat tone tells him her capacity for bullshit and lies is a lot smaller than he'd like. "Don't. Just—just don't. I want to know what happened."

"The damn kid told you what happened. He wrote papers. Big deal." He slouches in his chair like an eighth-grader hauled into the principal's office for a fight in the cafeteria.

"Apparently the committee thinks it's a big deal. Jason's been working hard to get that cardiovascular disease fellowship and now—" She stops, lowers her head, and takes a long deep breath. "Tell me what the hell went on."

It is the intimation of patient resignation in her tone that irritates him even more. "So I told the kid about writing papers. Don't tell me you never encountered that side of college life. When you were in school you knew who wrote the best papers and how much they charged per page, everyone knew." He wants to get up, pace, escape.

"Yes, I knew." Sarah won't look at him. "It made me angry because I was half-killing myself trying to write papers and study while people were handing in work they hadn't even read through, and getting better GPAs than me."

"You—it wasn't that hard for you," Greg says in disbelief. "You're too damn smart."

"It was hard! No one ever taught me how to read or write, the teachers in grade school knew my brothers and thought I was the same as them, so they never bothered . . . I had to figure things out for myself!" She scrubs a hand over her face and looks at him, and he sees tears in her eyes, dammit. "College was hell. If Prof hadn't been there to show me how to study and write papers I'd probably be scrubbin' dirty plates and screwin' the owner in some greasy spoon in Tulsa just to make my drug money."

They sit there in silence for a few moments. "The kid needed cash to make rent. One of the guys who agreed to split the cost took off and everyone had a bigger share," Greg says at last. "Once he got into med school there was no way he could work, you know that. As he just told you, he didn't want to come to you and Goldman for more money. So I told him about writing papers." It feels like the words are pulled out of him by force, like abscessed wisdom teeth.

"You could have suggested tutoring," Sarah says quietly. "Or better yet, told him to come to us—"

"Were you not listening when he said he didn't want to hit you up for extras?" He can't handle this, he has to get up and move around or he'll go apeshit. "You're really gonna come down on him for wanting to be independent—"

"No!" Sarah glares at him. She looks so distressed and he can't stand it. "But I don't want him—" She stops and color rushes into her cheeks. Greg feels his gut tighten as realization kicks in.

"You don't want him to be like me," he says.

"I want Jason to be himself."

"Nice answer. So all this time you've had a bug up your ass about how I do things." He rests a hip on Goldman's desk and watches her. The shake in his hands is worse now. "Good to know."

"You were expelled from two medical schools for cheating, and you did it just because you could," Sarah says. Her tone is neutral; she feels her way carefully now, and that scares him even more than if she just yelled at him some more. "You went on to become one of the world's best doctors—"

"Only one of the best? I'm hurt," he mocks. She ignores him.

"—and I want Jason to learn from you—"

"But only the morally-approved bits and pieces you think I can offer him, yeah yeah, I get it!" He paces across to the window, looks out on the beautiful day. "You approved my mentoring him but you never put any restrictions on my methods—"

"You chose to cheat because it was such a great way to flip the bird at every authority figure in the school!" Sarah says sharply. "As a mentor you have some responsibility to—"

"As a mentor I have the job of getting your kid through med school and residency and into a fellowship that will actually show him how to be a goddamn fucking real doctor and not some homonculus in a lab coat who hands out the pills the drug reps give him and overbooks because he's got a shitload of student loans to pay off!"

"So it's all right to cheat, to lie, to do whatever it takes to get what you want?" Sarah's voice is shaking now.

"Yes! To get the diagnosis you use whatever works! You break into the patient's house to find the truth of how they live, you run a test everyone says is pointless, you have your minions talk to people outside the family to get more bits of the truth—you do what it takes!"

"But that's diagnosis, it's not school! What you had Jason doing is helping people get into the system who have no idea how the fuck to be a doctor and don't care! They'll cheat all right, but it won't be to help a patient!" Now Sarah's on her feet too, arms folded. "It's wrong and you know it!"

They stare at each other across the room for what seems like an eternity. Then he goes to the door, wrenches it open, and leaves her behind, unwilling, unable to hear another word.

Jason is still in the kitchen at the sink, as he puts clean dishes in the rack to dry. He turns when Greg comes in.

"Come over later," Greg says to forestall the long discussion he knows is inevitable. "I can't talk to you here."

"Give Mom a chance to cool down," Jason says. He is pale, his dark gaze anxious. "You know how she is when she gets mad."

"Call first," is all he says, and then he's down the steps and through the mudroom, out into the sunshine. He starts for home, stops, blinks in the strong light, and turns just a little. Sarah stands at the office window. Her expression is unreadable, impassive. They stare at each other for a breath; he feels that pain deep within that he knows all too well, borne of an unwelcome mixture of guilt, shame and anger, and hurt too. He turns away and walks down the lane, and refuses to think of anything except the walk home.